


Folie à Deux

by Wildwind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildwind/pseuds/Wildwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an admission into an inpatient psychiatric hospital, Sansa Stark begins treatment with her new psychiatrist, Dr. Baelish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intake

It was warm for October. Golden rays of sun filtered through the remaining leaves that clung to the trees and glistened off of cars speeding along the main road. From her seat, Sansa gazed out the window at the people along the sidewalk. Teenagers saddled with heavy backpacks, headphones permanently living in their ears. Groups of two or three women, laughing over an inside joke; making plans for the coming weekend. She almost convinced herself that she was still on campus. Just a quick coffee break before heading to class. Thinking about midterms, roommates, parties. Nothing deeper. No thoughts with actual weight to them. If Sansa squinted just so, she could extend the illusion of a bustling university courtyard....

  
…instead of where she actually was.

  
Sansa’s chair was turned, faced away from the thick wooden conference table. Seated around her were a mix of strange and familiar faces. Aunt Lysa. A social worker from the hospital draped in an oversized sweater, furiously scribbling on her legal pad. Sansa’s University counsellor. An older nurse, occasionally nodding, trying to keep up the appearance of genuine concern. Their brows furrowed. Deeply entrenched in the all important matter of _what to do about Sansa_.

  
She had never felt more invisible.

  
Sansa continued to stare out the window, while the group conferred behind her. While her eyes tracked swirling leaves moving across the grass, her mind swirled with thoughts of everything and nothing. Every once in a while, a sound or phrase broke through. The tick of the clock....”murder of her mother and brother”....a clearing of the throat.....”significant trauma”.....the tip of a shoe scraping across the tile.....”failed out of school”....

  
She heard the words, but could not let them in. If she wanted to survive at all, Sansa couldn’t allow herself to remember such things. Her mind was stripped of important bonds and attachments. Of the remnants of family and friends. Of what it felt like to be loved and to belong. Of “Sansa Stark”. There was no purpose, no meaning that could ever come from those memories again. She had cared for too many people.

  
The voices were still talking. Summaries, prescriptions, dosages, treatment plans. Neat and tidy. Fitting her into a box; a category. All under the pretense of “support”. Of “care”. “We all care so much about you, Sansa...”

  
It was a trick. An indifferent universe, shifting the players and pieces around on a whim.

  
I _t doesn’t matter. Everyone I care about is taken from me...one way or another._

  
A light touch to her shoulder jarred Sansa from her stare. Still more words, directed at her now....

  
“Major depressive disorder, beyond the normal response to a significant loss....”

  
The decision had been made. She would remain in the woman’s unit at King’s Landing Inpatient Psychiatric Hospital. Voluntarily. “For your own safety”. There would be more meetings. Progress. Updates. “Watch and wait”. The table seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. It was done. She was no longer a situation that had to be dealt with. Her Aunt Lysa, her counsellor, each absolved of any and all responsibility.

  
Sansa felt nothing.

  
More time passed. There were papers to sign. Rules, liabilities, restrictions to review. Her thoughts kept her from absorbing the information thrown at her. Her body took over, ensuring compliance. Nodding. Agreeing. Signing her life away.

  
Afterwards, more talk as she gathered the few things she had brought and followed the case worker down the quiet hallway.

  
“…will see if he’s available so that he can introduce himself.”

  
They stopped in front of an office door, the silver nameplate reflecting the harsh florescent lights.

  
_Dr. Petyr Baelish, M.D., Psychiatry_

  
Sansa felt a distinct shift as she entered the dim office, as if she had stepped into another world. The pale yellow tile floors of the hospital were hidden away under a thick, forrest green rug. A large, cherrywood desk sat in front of a tall glass window, overlooking a wooded area adjacent to the hospital property. Custom made leather chairs, evenly spaced, formed a half circle in the center of the room. A mild and pleasant scent of mint hung in the air; a refreshing change from the disinfectant odor that overtook the rest of the hospital.

  
A slim man rose from the desk to meet them. As he approached, Sansa could see the outline of a cream coloured turtleneck and grey pants underneath his white doctor coat. Despite the touches of grey in his hair and the lines underneath his eyes, Sansa was surprised at how youthful he appeared. His eyes in particular had a vibrant glow. He kept them fixed on her as he offered his hand and Sansa struggled to pull her eyes away from his stare. When he spoke, his voice was deep, yet soft; soothing. 

  
“Welcome, Ms. Stark. I’m Dr. Baelish. I’ll be in charge of your care during your stay with us.”  
  
For a moment, the spiral of thoughts cycling through her head came to a stop.   
  



	2. Session 1

“How are you feeling today, Sansa?”

She sank deeper into the soft leather chaise. The sun beat steadily through Dr. Baelish’s office window, bathing her in light and warmth. She closed her eyes, wiggling her toes inside her shoes. Sansa could easily imagine herself soaking in a hot bath somewhere; a place and time far removed from the here and now. It was a welcome change from the cold and damp that filled the rest of the ward.

 _How do I feel?_ The last 24 hours stretched out in her memory. Jumbled pieces; events that may or may not have occurred. She thought she had slept, but maybe not. She was almost certain she had eaten, but she may have just sat staring at a meal on a cold plastic tray. The remainder of her time had been spent in her head, surrounded by a thick layer of memories and ideas too tangled and painful to sort through.

Sansa was lonely. She was more frightened about her new place in the world than she wanted to admit to herself. But neither of those feelings were strong enough to break through the overlying sense of nothingness. The void. Any illusion of purpose she may have had was all but gone.

“I feel…. OK...” she said, tentatively.

Dr. Baelish’s eyes were steady and calm, but Sansa noticed his lips curl subtly into a smirk. _OK? In a place like this?_ What a terrible liar she was.

Sansa was grateful that he didn’t call attention to how silly her words sounded.

“I’m glad to hear that,” His voice was a low and gentle rasp. It was comforting to listen to, suitable for someone in his position. “I’ve had a chance to review your file. I was hoping we could talk today about how I can be of help to you during your time here....”

Sansa held her breath, waiting for rest of the standard speech. _Medication_. This was nothing new to her. The past few months she had taken a laundry list of pills. Quick and easy solutions that were supposed to “fix” her. Nothing worked, and the side effects were too much for her to stand.

“It seems as if your past doctors have been tried several antidepressants for you. I take it you didn’t find them useful, given that you’re here with me today.”

Sansa nodded, surprised. He was the first psychiatrist she had ever met that seemed to believe that medication may not be the one and only solution.

“Thankfully,” he continued, as his eyes returned to hers. “There are other methods we can try, especially since you have the benefit of time.”

She found herself drawn in by the way his mouth and lips moved together to form the words. _Other approaches._ A spark, small and fleeting, passed through her. Sansa wasn’t sure what to call it. _Curiosity? Hope?_ But it was something. Something, as opposed to nothing. A sliver of light breaking through the dark.

“Like what?” she was surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth.

She watched those blue eyes shift, looking away briefly, as if consulting with a hidden audience. But they returned to hers just as quickly. His lips parted, as he raised his right eyebrow. “Our minds and bodies share a close connection. They feed off of each other. Influence each other in a such a powerful way. There are ways to help people become more in tune with this connection. To be able to observe your body’s signals and your mind’s responses. To gain control over them. Master them.”

Listening to him speak, Sansa felt more awake and alert than she had been in weeks. Dr. Baelish tilted his head, his gaze still locked on his patient. “Often, it is very difficult for people to navigate this on their own. It’s best if they have someone there to guide them. Someone who can teach them how to tame the more dangerous thoughts and images that will try to break through. It’s can be very intensive at times....I would need your complete trust....”

Dr. Baelish looked at her in a way that made Sansa feel as if he had already begun. _Does he know?_ The curl of his smile and the sheen of his eyes made her feel as if he already knew the dark husk her mind had become. Every hidden corner. Every disturbing word or uncomfortable "what if" that she felt ashamed of thinking. The warped version of herself that had made everyone else in her life turn away. _But he's not leaving like they did._ He wasn’t running away. He stared right at it. _At me_.

_Who is this man? What makes him think he can save me?_

“Yes, Dr. Baelish. I think I would like to meet with you again.”

His smile widened, finally reaching his eyes. “Please, call me Petyr”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who left comments on chapter one. I'm going to keep at it for now and see how it goes :)


	3. Introductions

She entered Sansa’s room as if it were her own.

Sansa jumped instinctively. She had been staring out the window at….something she could no longer remember, when the young women breezed into her room to take the seat opposite her. It gave Sansa the sensation of being roughly woken from a vivid dream.

Her thick, raven-haired locks were tightly fastened behind her in a pony tail. There was nothing remarkable about her clothes, skinny jeans and a baggy t-shirt, but she moved with such authority that it made her outfit look far more sophisticated than it actually was.

“Ahhh, there’s our girl,” she purred smoothly, leaning back in the chair, meeting Sansa’s gaze.

Sansa’s thoughts were already clouded over, and this sudden visit from a stranger wasn’t helping. “Umm…I’m sorry if we already met…I must have forgotten….”

She let out a deep, rich laugh. “You’re adorable! We never met before, sweetie. I’m Myranda. And this is Jeyne.” Myranda gestured to another young woman standing hesitantly at the door. Jeyne bashfully pushed her pale blonde hair behind her ears and gave Sansa a half smile.

“And you…” Myranda drew out the words. “Are the newest addition to our lovely hell hole. Welcome home, Sansa Stark!”

Myranda’s eyes had a sparkle, a hint of _life_ that Sansa hadn’t seen from any other patient on the ward. It was infectious. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt some of the weight partially lift from her mind.

“Gee, thanks” Sansa replied with a small laugh. For a moment, her imagination took over, trying to come up with a reason why someone with a personality like Myranda’s would be in a place like this one. But she knew better than to ask. It was an unspoken rule. The other women here will share their stories when they were ready… _if_ they were ready. Most of the time, the past lives behind their blank expressions remained a mystery to those around them.

Myranda beamed. “Ah, but a much more important question….How was he?”

Sansa felt her cheeks redden, her body answering the question before her mind could process it. _He?_ The only man she had encountered since her arrival had been Dr. Baelish…. _Petyr_ …

“I’m sorry, I….” Sansa stammered, as Myranda’s smile widened enough to reveal bright white teeth, a striking contrast with her deep plum lip gloss. Thoughts of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland drifted into Sansa’s mind and she half expected Myranda's face to fade away while her smile remained, floating on it’s own.

“The good doctor, of course,” Myranda let out a throaty giggle, turning back to Jeyne. Jeyne had made it a few steps further into the room, her face nearly as red as Sansa’s, her lips curled in a sheepish grin.

“Dr....Baelish?” Sansa was hesitant. It felt like she was giving away a secret in just speaking his name.

Myranda and Jeyne continued to giggle, exchanging knowing looks with each other. “Oh, honey,” Myranda turned back to Sansa. “Don’t you know? Call him Petyr." Myranda savored the name on her tongue. "He likes it when you call him Petyr.”

Myranda spoke with an air of experience _._ Sansa’s face remained flushed, but her embarrassment began to mix with something else. Something almost like jealousy.

Whatever it was, Myranda quickly picked up on it. “Don’t worry, hun, we weren’t spying or anything. He’s my shrink too. And Jeyne’s. We like to get together and compare notes sometimes, don’t we?” Jeyne had finally made her way over to Sansa and Myranda. She nodded enthusiastically and gave Myranda a wide smile. Sansa realized that Jeyne had not spoken a word since the conversation started.

“You talk about what you do in therapy? I...I thought that was private?” Sansa asked, her curiosity taking over.

“Nah, confidentiality is strictly for the docs. We can tell whoever we want.” Myranda assured her.

“So....what do you talk about then?” Sansa was mildly surprised at her own question. Why should she care what these women spoke about?

“Mostly just our _deep_ appreciation for everything Petyr’s done for us” Myranda replied, in a mock serious tone. In an instant, she broke into a grin again. “But mainly how much of a stone cold fox he is.”

Sansa giggled in spite of herself. A part of her was relieved to know that Petyr had a similar effect on other patients. At the same time, that sliver of joy, of hope she had carried with her after her session with Petyr disappeared into a deep hole inside her. That spark she had felt. It wasn’t her. _He’s like that with all this patients._ And Sansa wasn’t sure why this bothered her so much.

“So, what do say Miss Sansa? How would you like to join our little group?” Myranda watched her carefully, and there was something in her eyes that made Sansa believe Myranda already knew her answer.

Sansa took a breath. “OK” she agreed. A smile swept over Jeyne’s face, as she looked excitedly back to Myranda, who smiled confidently at the response.

"But," Sansa added quickly, still feeling slightly cautious, "I probably won't have much to share, really...." she trailed off.

Myranda's eyes shone as she fixed a knowing gaze on Sansa. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. I think you'll have plenty."

 


	4. Session 2

Sansa sat still, her ears burning. Straining. She cursed the occasional squeaks of nurses’ sneakers against the tile floor and every hiss and crackle of the ward’s ancient PA system. It was no use. She sat beside a thick metal door, designed to contain the fears and secrets of Dr. Baelish’s patients. Whatever took place in that office stayed firmly within those walls.

She didn’t have to be there then. Not that early. His office wasn’t far from her room, and her appointment time was scheduled for 8pm. It was Sansa who chose to spend those extra moments slouched uncomfortably in the flimsy plastic chair pushed up against that cold concrete wall.

Myranda’s session began at 7pm.

A nervous thought stayed with her while she sat there silently. _If it was the other way around, would Myranda be sitting out here now? Trying to find out what was being shared between Petyr and her?_

The rush of air made Sansa jump as the heavy door swung open. Myranda’s eyes instantly found hers and ensured that Sansa had her complete attention. Myranda turned, a brief flicker of sincerity crossing her face. “Thank you, Petyr” she said. Turning back to Sansa, the ends of her smile curled upwards. “He’s all yours” she whispered under her breath.

Sansa felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

With no time to calm herself, she worried that he would suspect something. As she entered the office, she found him sitting comfortably in a deep leather chair positioned behind the long, curving chaise. He silently jotted notes on a thick yellow pad, and raised his head only after she had taken her seat. The blue in his eyes was even more striking behind his dark framed lenses. A soft smile emerged from his lips. His hair was slightly wild, with a few grey curls emerging around his ears. He looked less put together than when she saw him last. Sansa found herself wondering about the hours he kept and whether he allowed himself to take breaks. _Does he sleep here?_ She wondered as she ran her palms over the smooth leather of the chair. The colour stubbornly remained on her cheeks.

“How are you?” he asked, slowly lifting his pen. “Have there been changes in your mood since we last met?”

She absorbed the question, wondering about it's deeper meaning. _Had Myranda said something? Did he know about their friendship?_   She was surprised to find herself wondering what he would think of that.

Sansa chose her words carefully. “I met some of the other people here…..” She let the words trail off, holding his gaze, silently asking him what he wanted from her; what his question really meant.

His smile grew in small increments. “And……” He stretched the word, using her own strategy against her, letting it hang in the air for Sansa to retrieve.

Her pulse quickened. _He’s reading me_. Her mind raced with imagery of what his expectations could be, of what Myranda had informed him of.

Before Sansa could fall deeper into the well of her own scattered thoughts, Petyr broke the stare. “You seem tense today,” he observed, turning to place his notepad onto the desk. “This may be a good opportunity to try something that I think would help you immensely. Lie back on the chair.”

She obeyed, bringing her legs up onto the chaise before stretching out again. Sansa lifted her head and carefully spread her long hair behind her, draping it over the end of the chair. She felt the ends of her hair lightly brush against the cuff of his pants, sending a tingle down her spine.

Sansa’s new view was of the ceiling, a mosaic of small grey dots amongst drab white panels. The harsh florescent light hurt her eyes, but it soon disappeared as Petyr moved to the other side of the room to adjust the dimmer. A soft glow fell over them. He returned to his seat behind her head, out of her view.

“Are you comfortable?” he was only a voice now, hovering over her. She nodded silently.

“Good. Breathe deeply.” Her hands grazed her stomach, feeling it rise and fall. Expand and crumble, over and over, each time slower than the last. The quiet hush of air from her lungs was the only sound in the room.

“Close your eyes,” his voice sounded lower now, with a faint rasp. “Notice your body….the sensation of your hands, your skin….” Sansa moved her palms softly over her middle, absorbing the heat coming from within her.

“Relax your muscles....feel any tension in your body slip away.....”

As Petyr continued to speak, Sansa found her thoughts slowly dissolving. His office, the time, the date, the larger reasons, the circumstances of why she was there vanished, leaving her feeling as if she was floating in space, surrounded by a dark void.

The sensation of falling overtook her. The growing sense of nothingness, of having no one to ground her sent a rush of panic through her body.

“Sansa…..” Petyr’s voice returned, a beacon in the darkness. “Imagine a place. Somewhere in your own imagination. A place where you feel safe…..where you are protected. I want you to invent this place in your mind now.”

_Safe. Protected._ She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt protected. Any safe place Sansa had once had, real or imaginary was a distant memory that was best kept locked away. She had seen firsthand just how dangerous it was to believe in those things.

The only image she formed in that moment was him. His carefully chosen words and the intensity of his stare, waiting for her in the soft light of this office. Hidden away from the grim reminders of the world outside his door. Something about Petyr made her feel different. She couldn't call it protection or safety. Something unspoken happened when Sansa sat across from him eye to eye, something she couldn’t put words to yet.

“Tell me about the place in your mind, Sansa. Where are you?”

...but she could try.

“I’m with you”


	5. Debriefing

“And???”

  
A cloud of smoke quickly sliced through the grey autumn air as Sansa tried to decide how she would answer Myranda’s question.

  
The afternoon cold bit at the two of them, slipping into the tiny open spaces uncovered by their coats and scarves. Sansa’s cheeks stung from the bitter breeze and she cursed herself for joining Myranda for a cigarette. She’d never smoked a day in her life, but the opportunity for conversation, a real conversation, away from the watchful eyes of nurses and fellow patients was too appealing.

  
But while Sansa hoped to get more information out of her new friend, she found herself being interrogated.

  
“And….well…,” Sansa stuttered, feeling ashamed and not quite knowing why. Myranda was expecting something from her. _Something more. Something exciting._   Sansa knew she was failing, a feeling that she has never been able to stand.

  
“He didn’t say anything more really….we just continued the session.”

  
Myranda’s eyes shone with a knowing look, half a smile forming as she took another drag on her cigarette. A small cluck of disappointment left her mouth. “Well, that’s a shame. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  
Sansa glanced around, scanning for curious ears around them. Thankfully, they were alone. She had been dying to ask, but the shadow of her old self held her back.  The old Sansa would never have thought to press someone she had just met for details about their sex life. But that was then. The idea of social rules, of polite conversation, were foreign to her in her new circumstances. Now that every move was observed, measured and documented. Smoke and bathroom breaks were all that were left. Small corners, away from scrutiny. Ideal spaces for strangers and secrets to thrive.

  
 “What do you mean?”

  
Myranda held Sansa’s gaze, while Sansa held her breath. _Shit_ , she thought. _What a stupid mistake. Why would she tell me anything? I barely know her._

  
The silence finally broke after what seemed like an eternity. “Petyr takes a special interest in his patients. Especially the new, pretty ones.”

  
Sansa blushed reflexively. “Has he….has he done anything with you?”

  
Myranda ran the tip of her tongue across her teeth, glancing fondly at the asphalt under their feet. “Nothing that wasn’t very… _therapeutic_ for both of us.”

  
The red in Sansa’s cheeks grew deeper and her stomach tightened with a feeling she couldn’t place.

  
“But….wouldn’t that get him in trouble?”

  
Myranda shifted her weight and lowered her voice. “Petyr’s not an idiot. And the patients he takes an interest in aren’t either. At least, I’m not. Are you?”

  
Sansa’s anger made her quick to respond. “No, I’m not…I didn’t mean….” She hated how flustered the conversation made her and how whatever calm or cool she tried to show had slipped away.

  
Myranda softened, her tone of voice moving back into one of experience. If she hadn’t been so focused on what Myranda was going to say next, Sansa might have thought to question just how much experience her friend really had. “He has a way of knowing which patients are the right ones for him. Which ones are interested and willing. You’ll know when he’s interested. He's always drawn to the women who think like he does. The ones that can read him and give him what he wants.”

  
Her skin continued to burn red at the idea that she was one of the women Myranda described. Almost immediately, the feeling of shame crept up within her, and not for the reasons it should have. _Have I failed Petyr too? Did he think I rejected him?_

  
Sansa steadied herself, focusing on Myranda’s face while the scattered thoughts swam through her head. The question had to be asked.

  
“What does he want?”

  
Myranda exhaled slowly, her eyes following the smoke as it left them. When she turned back to Sansa, her eyes betrayed a hint of pride at knowing what Sansa didn't.

  
“Everything”


	6. Session 3

“You’re having trouble today.”

  
Sansa let out a frustrated breath and opened her eyes. As much as she tried, her body refused to relax. The calming imagery of her last session eluded her. She was thinking too hard.

  
_Trying too hard_ , she thought. After her talk with Myranda, she had purposefully worn a more revealing sweater. One that may slip down further than expected if she arched her back while laying on the chaise. Or if she inhaled a little too deeply. Not too obvious. He liked smart girls, Myranda had said. And so Sansa tried to behave the way she thought her friend did when she was alone with the man.

  
But there was no change in his eyes or his face and this was the real source of Sansa’s frustration.  The feeling of disappointing yet another person returned, causing a sickening ache in her stomach.

  
“I’m sorry” she said, in barely a whisper. _I’m sorry I don’t know what you want. That I can’t give you what you want._ She opened her eyes, turning her head to gaze up at him. She could feel her face and neck flush with embarrassment at not being able to do what he asked of her. “I’m just not very good at this.”

  
Petyr didn’t move, but she noticed a flicker in his eyes.  A spark.  When he spoke, there was a change in the tone of his voice. “Well then, it sounds like I may need to assist you. Lie back. Close your eyes.”

  
Sansa returned to her position, hands resting on her stomach, just above her waist, rising and falling as she breathed.

  
“Feel your hands on your skin....on your stomach....your hips....moving along your thighs....”

  
Without thinking, her hands moved steadily down her torso, agreeing to his suggestions. She grazed the front of her jeans and felt the warmth rising from between her legs. She wondered for a fleeting second if Petyr knew what his words did to her.

  
“That’s good. It feels good, doesn't it?”

  
The question surprised her, but she quickly, softly agreed. “Mmm hmm...”

  
Petyr inhaled a sharp breath “I thought so. You like to touch yourself, don’t you?”

  
She blushed instinctively. _Does he mean….?_ But any inkling of self consciousness quickly evaporated. The sound of her own breath, keeping time with his, had a hypnotic effect. The question was inappropriate, but she needed him to know her answer. “Yes”.

  
Petyr spoke again, giving a simple command.

  
 “Show me.”

  
Her heart raced. Sansa had never dreamed of engaging in such a private act in front of anyone else. But Myranda’s words echoed in her mind. _Give him what he wants._ Slowly, her fingers found the buttons of her jeans and steadily guided the zipper down. She squirmed, letting her pants fall loosely around her waist. She slid her hand underneath the waistband of her underware.

  
The heat from earlier was stronger now and Sansa’s blush deepened at how wet she was. She moved her hands in circles, savoring the sensation. Her cheeks and neck burned red, a mix of shame and pleasure.

  
“Mmm…That’s a good girl.”

  
Hearing his praise sent a jolt through her core. She quickened her pace, a soft moan escaping her lips.

  
Suddenly she felt his hand on her wrist. Startled she opened her eyes to find Petyr sitting on the edge of the chaise. His eyes glazed over, taking in the sight of her. His lips moved slowly and steadily into a smirk.

  
“Ah, ah ah, not so quickly, Sweetling. You don’t want this to be over too soon, do you?”

  
She nodded weakly, struggling between obeying his commands and continuing on, giving herself what she desperately needed.

  
He gripped her wrist tighter, pulling her hand away, back into the light of day. Evidence of the deed coated her long, elegant fingers. The sly smirk grew wider on Petyr’s face. His eyes locked on hers as he took each finger past his lips, gently sliding them across his tongue, basking in her taste.

  
She shuddered, aching to be touched again.

  
Petyr leaned forward, lips parted, his teeth grazing her neck. He wove his fingers with hers and moved both their hands to return to their task. His grip was unexpectedly strong. As much as she tried to move her hand quicker, Petyr was in complete control. His pace was agonizingly slow making it that much harder to keep still and quiet.

  
The hoarse whisper came as he kissed her neck. “This was what you think of, isn't it? When you close your eyes and imagine me…”

  
Despite her crush, her curiosity in him, Sansa never imagined herself like this. In his office, legs spread. Completely at the mercy of his hand. She never imagined how badly she wanted this, in that very moment. How she craved more demands, more control, more touch.

  
“Yes” the word came out as a cry.

  
“Shhhh”, his other hand moved over her mouth. “You wouldn’t want anyone else to hear us, do you? Loud, impatient girls don’t get what they want.”

  
Sansa drew her bottom lip inside her mouth, feeling the salty taste of blood as she bit down. She resisted every urge to cry out even louder. Only one thing mattered to her now.

"Say the words. Tell me what you want, Sansa"

He lifted his palm from her lips. She turned to him, her whole body flushed with need. "I want to come."

Petyr's fingers picked up speed and she moaned with relief. Shamelessly, she rolled her hips to meet his touch, wordlessly begging him to grant her release.

She heard a playful chuckle in her ear. "You'll have to do better than that."

Sansa clung to him, instinct taking over, doing whatever she could to chase her goal. "Please, Petyr. Please make me come, please, please!" she moaned desperately.

With a swift movement of his hand, Petyr granted her wish. Sansa buried her cries of delight in his sweater, pulling him as close as she could. After a few moments, she felt her body melt into the chaise, warm and calm as Petyr's hand left her. She wasn't aware of how much time had passed before she heard his voice again, composed and returned to it's usual softness.

"And...How did that feel?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> An idea I've had floating around for a while, although it's kind of weird and dark. Thought I'd throw a chapter up and see how it does lol. If people like it, I'll continue :)
> 
> Also, seeing as this takes place in a psych hospital, there will obviously be mentions of mental health related topics and all that goes along with that, so consider this an overall trigger warning.


End file.
